by Brona Mills
I put Max on his bed, against the back wall of our bedroom, and turn on his nightlight. Before I’ve crossed the room to the single dresser the TV sits on, Max has pattered his tiny feet over the floorboards and jumped into my bed.
‘Go on then, you might as well get under the covers.’ I undo my skirt and pull my pyjamas out of the closet, mentally taking note of what I can wear tomorrow. It’s the one good thing about having a small closet; I can pick out a full outfit, shoes, and a bag in one glance. Once Max is settled with his favourite movie of the month, I go around the house locking up. At the bottom of the stairs, I only have to stretch to check the front door is locked while I use the banister to swing around in full circle towards the kitchen for the back door.
The house may be small, but it’s damn expensive. It’s about the same size as the pool house at the home I lived in when I was Max’s age, when my parents were still together. A badly decorated, greyer, duller version of the pool house, with one shared bathroom and no pool.
When I get back, Max is throwing pillows in the air. ‘I want you to watch this with me.’
I climb on the bed and motion for him to sit back down.
‘No books. Put your work away and watch this with me.’
‘Okay, no books.’ I slide the files onto the nightstand and lean back, aching with the relief of resting. Don’t fall asleep.
I wrap my arms around Max and touch the side of his head. He’s losing the look of a toddler and turning into a boy. A boy who’s starting to take on the same shape as his father. The pale skin was inherited from both sides of the gene pool, but the dark hair and brown eyes are Nathan’s. It’s an unwelcomed, constant reminder of our brief relationship that tells me I was stupid enough to fall for a nasty man and Max will never have a good man to call his dad. Someone who’d be so good, they would sweep in and save a complete stranger, someone who might even turn into a guardian angel one day.
Once Max has fallen asleep, I transfer him to his bed and get my catalogues together. Don’t work past midnight. I trawl through the paperwork, making notes as I go and highlighting the clothing that would sell well. I make a separate pile of the things I like, but the recommended retail price makes the margin of profit too small, leaving it for Cici to make the decision. By eleven o’clock, there isn’t much left to go through. I can finish the rest on the bus in the morning, as long as I manage to get a seat.
After washing my face, I stare in the mirror at the lines forming around my eyes. When did I get so old looking? My blonde hair is dull. I tug on the frayed ends. I can blow dry it in the morning to style it, but it could use a condition at the salon. Hair and makeup products are so darn expensive. At twenty-four, I shouldn’t have to worry about which cheap brand of makeup covers the scars on my face as well as the wrinkles around my eyes.
Before the lunch rush, Cici asks me to organise the boxes of material we bought to replace the changing-room curtains three years ago. Now that Cici can put more money into the store, she wants to address our original plans. I’ve moved the boxes aside and have them arranged by content and colour. I’m making a list and taking picture samples when she calls me from downstairs.
‘Stella, I need you.’
I finish the photograph I was taking, slide the box back to its new place, and trot down the stairs. Slipping through the curtains that hide the chaos of the store room, I smooth my outfit and straighten my hair. Looking up, I see Mike with Cici. Why is David not with him? ‘I told you yesterday I’m not interested in anything you have to say.’
‘I just want to have a chat, see what I can offer you.’ Mike fidgets, nearing the door as he speaks.
‘Stella,’ Cici hisses. ‘Don’t speak to such a nice young man in that manner. It’s your break now anyway, so go on out with him and don’t be so rude. He’s British. They don’t stand for any of that impoliteness.’
I glance at my watch. ‘It’s not even twelve-thirty. I don’t go on lunch till two.’
‘Take half an hour now and you can take the rest later.’ Cici points at the door. ‘I won’t have any arguments in front of the customers. It’s unprofessional.’
‘There’s a Starbucks down the street,’ I mutter in Mike’s direction. ‘Let’s make this quick.’ I storm out. My hostility has more to do with the lack of David, if it really is David, or some other paranormal explanation version of him. The short walk to Beverly is silent as Mike falls in step with me.
‘Is it always so bright here?’ Mike asks. His English accent, despite being stronger than David’s, makes him more appealing than the average wannabe actor.
‘Wait till summer. It will be hot before noon.’
‘It’s not just the sun. It’s everything.’ He digs his hands in his pockets. ‘The palm trees and flowers. Damn, even the pavements are vibrant.’
‘Sidewalks,’ I tell him.
In Starbucks, I order a low-fat, decaf, iced frap with hazelnut syrup and half a serving of whipped cream with toffee syrup. Might as well indulge since this schmuck is paying.
Mike takes our drinks to a couch, allowing me to sit first. Damn manners on those Brits. I sit on the edge of the couch. There’s no way I’m staying long enough to get comfortable. Mike sits opposite. For about twenty minutes, he explains how he and David came to LA on a recommendation from a friend while Mike looks for acting work.
I wish I knew what the hell was going on. I thought David and I were connected, like he was somehow my saviour. I’m going to have to stop at the library on the way home and find more books on the paranormal to try and make sense of this. I only read one book once I was discharged from the hospital. Max took up so much time, weeks had passed before I realised I hadn’t actually read them all, and then I was fined for late return. I didn’t have the mental energy to check them out again.
Mike never gives me any indication of knowing anything unusual about David or him knowing me before. He’s too busy trying to convince me how great an agent I could be in the future if only I utilised all the things I learned from my dad. I’m knocking down all his ideas and answering more on autopilot than anything.
‘I know your dad was hot stuff or whatever in the movie business. This could work out.’
Mike’s comment makes my blood boil and probably sparks the first real response I’ve had this whole meeting. ‘My dad was hot stuff until he lost it all. I mean everything. He divorced my mom, and we lived on state welfare while he tried to rebuild his life.’ But it was the second time his business failed, years later, when I really suffered. ‘I was pregnant and scared. You know what he did then? Gave it all away to his fucking mail-order bride. When he died, she got everything. The only good thing was that everyone who was in my life for the money went away too.’
I lean closer, so he’ll really hear me. ‘You really want people to screw you over for your money? ’Cause this is the right place and the right career path to go down. Friends are rare in life, and when you’re young and rich and vulnerable, everyone wants a piece of you.’
He coughs. ‘Look, if this is going to work out, let’s be straight with each other. I’m going to be a success, and everyone will know who I am. My movies are going to be box-office successes, and Oprah is going to have me on her show many times. Guys are going to want to be my friends, and girls are going to want to get in my bed, and I might even acquire a stalker or two, so I need an agent who can handle it all.
‘I need to know who to audition for. I need to be told what to do and how to improve. Proper guidance, not someone who shows up once a year to see how I’m doing. I need to know whose ass to kiss and where I can find that ass.’
‘Well, look who just turned into a diva,’ I mock. ‘I gotta love the confidence. If you can do half of what you say, we’ll be home free.’
‘So you’re in? I can do this, Stella. I just can’t do it on my own.’
‘Maybe.’ If I had a fraction of the earning’s Mike thinks he’s going to have, I wouldn’t have to stress about every bill that come
s my way.
Cici catches my attention in the doorway. I jump up and she rushes to me. Her usual care-free demeanour is gone.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Max was in an accident. He’s at St. Mary’s Medical Center.’
I snatch up my purse and head for the door. My heart is racing, the thumps driving my feet forward. The blood pumping in my ears means I can hardly hear Cici talking behind me.
‘Your mom rang the store. He fell in the park and split his head open. I have a cab outside. I billed it to the store, just get to the hospital.’
By the time I make it to the hospital, Max has stopped vomiting. We’re moved from the ER waiting room to a curtained off bed. Two different doctors visit us and spend a lot of time looking into his eyes and discuss the vision black spots that Max is describing. Cici arrives an hour after me. She gets coffee and chocolate and tells me I need the sugar to get the colour back in my face. She lets me sit on the only chair and puts her arm around me when I cry.
We’re taken for a scan, and once the results come back as normal, Pamela says she’ll meet us at home. There’s a large gash on the side of Max’s head, which I was assured looks worse than it actually is. There’s a lot of blood on the gauze when the nurse changes the dressing.
‘Head injuries bleed more,’ the nurse tells me. ‘We need to keep him for a few hours for observations, but the doctor is happy.’
Cici holds my hand while I hold Max’s, and the nurse changes the bandages on his head. It’s not as bad as it could have been for the height of the jungle gym he fell from. But he has a large bump and a gash that needs to be tended to for a few days.
I lean over to Cici and whisper, ‘I can’t believe Pamela left.’
‘It’s not like she abandoned him, dear. The doctor’s given him the all clear.’
‘She’s his grandmother. You’d think she’d wait and go home with us.’
‘Pamela’s finding life tough right now. She puts on a good act, but I say the guilt of being the one who was looking after Max today when he fell was enough to push her over the edge. You know she doesn’t like being around too many people. She just needed to get a breather. Don’t blame her, Stella.’
‘I wish she’d be more grown up and get a job. A great, well-paying job that will help pull us out of this hole.’ But it was me who lost my mom her home, so I guess I kind of owe her. ‘I can’t let go of this feeling, like I’ve reached my limit, that stage before you explode.
‘When I arrive home at night, Pamela takes that as her cue to disappear. It’s like she doesn’t want to see me. I think she blames me for losing the last thing she managed to salvage from her life.’
‘Oh, Stella, no. She managed to keep the most precious things in her life. Sometimes, people go through things that makes them difficult to be around, but believe me, she’s finding it difficult being herself right now too.’
I take a deep breath. ‘What was she doing while he fell anyway?’
‘Stop,’ Cici scolds. She’s rarely so harsh, so I know I’ve crossed a line with my over-the-top Pamela-bashing.
‘Granny was crossing the monkey bars when I fell.’ Max answers the question I never should have muttered. ‘She only made it two bars over before she laughed and dropped to the ground. I was trying to get down quick to show her how to do it proper.’
‘It’s okay.’ I soften, squeezing Max’s hand. I lean over to Cici. ‘It feels good to vent. It’s not like I would’ve said it to her face.’
‘She’s your mother. She knows what you’re thinking. Maybe that’s why she left.’ Cici drops my hand. ‘Maybe she’s tired of disappointing you, but you know what? No matter what she does, or how perfect she could become, you’d still have hostility towards her.’
I glance at the nurse, who pretends she can’t hear us. ‘I’m disappointed in her lack of sobriety. Not her,’ I whisper in Cici’s ear so Max won’t hear.
‘For her, it’s the same thing. Perhaps if you started treating her like you want her to behave, she might live up to that expectation.’ Cici nods at Max. ‘You have a three-year-old you use reverse psychology on all the time. Try it on your mother. What have you got to lose?’
The nurse finishes with Max and hands me a printed sheet listing the dangers signs to look for after a head injury. God, there’s no way I’m going to relax enough to sleep tonight. I’ll be checking on him every five minutes. ‘Just as well he sleeps in my bed most nights anyway.’
The nurse smiles. ‘I need to get the doctor to sign off, then you can be on your way.’ She unrolls a collection of Spiderman stickers and lets Max choose which one to place on his T-shirt before she closes the curtain and leaves us alone.
I slide onto the bed with Max and pull him into me. He snuggles into my arms while we wait.
‘What did that English guy want?’ Cici asks.
I immediately think of David. ‘I don’t know, I haven’t seen him in years,’ I mutter.
‘You know him? I got the impression he was new in town. He looked so . . . green.’
Shit. ‘Not really. I . . . em. He wants me to be his agent,’ I blurt, knowing it will redirect the conversation.
Cici smirks. ‘He did tell me that. Why do you think I made you go for coffee? You could make a living being an agent, and you know what you’re doing. It would beat surviving on the salary you make from the store.’
I open my mouth to protest.
Cici holds up her hand. ‘I pay you. I know exactly what you make and how hard it must be to support three people. I’m just sorry I’m not in a position to bring you in as partner or at least pay you more.’ A blush starts at the base of Cici’s throat and quickly flushes up her neck.
‘Cici, is everything okay?’
‘No need to worry yet. Things at the store aren’t going as well as I expected, so if this opportunity is real, as your friend and as your parents’ friend, I urge you to grab it. You can work both jobs for a while until you start making money as an agent. You have your dad’s drive and smarts. You ran the office for him. He taught you everything. You could do this with your eyes closed. You need that one opportunity, that one push to make you do it.’
‘That’s basically what Mike said.’ I shift in the bed to face Cici head-on. ‘He said he had a friend in England who told him about me, that I was going to be the biggest agent in Hollywood. You don’t think maybe he sort of knows what’s going to happen, do you?’ Oh my god, it sounds ridiculous out loud.
Cici answers before I can backtrack. ‘If anyone ever saw you work for your dad, of course they recognised the talent and potential you have. You, Stella Lewis, can achieve great things. You only have to believe in yourself.’
‘Mike said it wasn’t my fault Dad’s production company went bankrupt.’ I gulp.
Cici takes my hand. ‘Did you think it was?’
I nod. ‘I was the only other person working there. It was as much my responsibility as his.’
‘You were eighteen. It wasn’t your fault.’ Cici’s face hardens. ‘I’ve known your parents longer than you’ve been alive, and one thing Simon Lewis never did was let anyone else influence his business. He took control, too much sometimes. Everything that ever happened to him was a result of his own decisions. And you know what else?’
I shake my head.
‘He loved you.’ She smiles.
I shake as I hold back a sob and cover my mouth, not wanting Max to stir from his slumber.
Cici squeezes my hand. ‘He was a director first and foremost. He added an agency department to an already failing production company. He was good at what he did in all areas, but it was too much on his own. He was already in difficulty when you got there, and he knew it. And that two-bit whore never got as much for it as she let on.’ She winks at me. ‘Your dad gave you a job so he could share his life’s work with you. Show you how the business worked, in case you ever wanted to make it your career. He made you work so you could see the negatives that come with so much success and r
esponsibility and you could always make an informed decision in your career.’
I take a deep breath. ‘Just because his business was failing, and his new wife was a bitch, I still needed him. I still wanted him around . . . do you think he had it planned?’
‘I don’t think it’s healthy to speculate too long on why someone takes their own life, or if anything could have stopped it. Sometimes saving someone is only temporary. All you need to know is that if he could have overcome it, he would have stayed for you.’
I know he didn’t choose to leave me, but sometimes I miss him so much, the anger takes over and all I can concentrate on is how selfish he was at the end. ‘I used to dream about having a career with an income like my dad’s. I would never have to depend on anyone—especially a man. Cici, I think I could do this. And Mike might be a great first client who just fell into my lap. He wants me specifically. He’s going to pay me a higher percentage, and cover a day’s childcare so I can work on my day off. I could make at least fifteen percent from him. He’s hounding me after all. Even when I told him how much hard work it’s going to be starting with nothing.’
‘He must have heard how great you were.’ She stands and gathers her purse. ‘I’m going to stretch my legs and find a soda. You want anything?’
I shake my head and shrug off her compliment. ‘It’s not like I’d have anything to lose by giving it a shot. Once you’ve lost it all, the only way is back up, right? All I’d have to do is make a few phone calls. Speak to some people who owe me favours, if they’re still around. If I put in some real effort, worked a few weeks, couple months, I could even land him a regular TV spot. He’s hot enough to be a regular, and he looks like he works out, plus the English accent is going to kill some ovaries in auditions. Fifteen percent of a SAG minimum on a recurring TV role could get us all out of the hole.’
‘Sounds like it might be the opportunity you’ve been waiting for. Work from the store on your day off until you get to know him. You can use the upstairs office.’